


Designer

by Nyxelestia



Series: Winter Wolves [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Drunk Sex, Gaslighting, Gen, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Manipulation, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24711100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxelestia/pseuds/Nyxelestia
Summary: Missing scenes of what Stiles is missing in Talking Cure.“Yeah,” he said. “Do you remember that crime junkie from the message board? There’s some weird stuff going down in my town, and I might need some help investigating.“I’ll send you the name later,” Skye said. “I gotta go, I’ll call you tonight.”He wisher her luck on her upcoming SHIELD surveillance, bid her a distracted farewell, and hung up — quickly exiting all the encryption before it drained his battery completely.Danny didn’t know what the hell has been going on with Jackson, lately, but after something like this, he was going to find out.Jackson, Lydia, and Danny might be the prettiest power posse in town — but that doesn't mean much, these days.AKA "money and beauty can't save you from getting mindfucked by supernatural serial killers".Companion piece to my Winter Wolves AU. However, these scenes on Beacon Hills and is pretty close to Season 2 Teen Wolf canon, so this three-shot can be read on its own.
Relationships: Allison Argent & Lydia Martin, Danny Mahealani & Jackson Whittemore, Danny Mahealani/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Winter Wolves [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/312872
Comments: 18
Kudos: 71





	1. Porche

**Author's Note:**

> For [a variety of reasons](https://www.reddit.com/r/bujo/comments/guuhk5/2020s_been_getting_so_out_of_hand_i_made_a_spread/), having my birthday bonanza posting spree isn't happening this year. But I still wanted to get _something_ out, so here ya'll go.
> 
> Some of you might recognize this from when it was originally in Talking Cure. Don't worry, Danny's chapter will have content that wasn't in Talking Cure, originally.
> 
> While it's meant to be a part of the Winter Wolves series, these chapters are missing scenes of an AU Season 2 that's still mostly canon compliant at this point, so this can be read as a stand-alone.

In a prison van in the middle of the woods, Jackson shivered in the cold metal box he was trapped in. Allison, Stilinski, and McCall hadn’t even give him a shirt. It was already bad enough that they'd apparently seen him naked, since he didn't have any underwear on and these were definitely not his sweatpants. But if they were going to trap him in a metal box in the cold outdoors, the least the bastards could do was give him a shirt.

He focused on that. On the cold, on the clothes, on the faint precursors to hunger he could feel building in his gut.

Jackson focused on them so hard, he could almost, _almost_ , forget that he was trapped here by three crazy people who wanted to do who-knew-what with him. They wanted him for something, and Jackson wasn't so sure about his own chances against them. McCall was a werewolf faster and stronger than a human like Jackson could hope to be, Allison came from a family of professional killers, and Stilinski was capable of setting someone on fire and watching them burn without flinching.

Wrapping his arms around himself, he frowned as he heard their voices — quiet, getting louder...but only their voices. There was no sound of them actually moving closer to the van.

_“...so, somebody just watches Jackson make a video of himself turning into the kanima, and then just erases part of it so he wouldn’t know?”_

Jackson frowned at the silvery wall he was facing. How was he even hearing this? Stilinski and McCall and Allison had walked off, he heard them.

_“Who would do that?”_

He would like to know, too-

_“Somebody who wanted to protect him?”_

-except he wasn’t this kanima thing and right now he had bigger problems. Like getting kidnapped.

_“…said it only goes after murderers. What if that’s actually true?”_

But the fact that McCall could casually chat about murderers explained what exactly their priorities were.

And as much as Jackson hated to admit it, he wasn’t even sure he could blame them. If he had their weird savior complexes, he’d probably kidnap someone to track down a murderer, too.

Except Jackson wasn’t the murderer and he didn’t know who was, so this whole damn thing was still messed up.

He did, however, snort to himself when Stilinski said, _“I don’t know about you, but I haven’t murdered anyone, lately.”_

"What about Peter?" Jackson grumbled.

Outside, McCall gasped.

_"What?"_ Allison demanded.

For a few moments, nothing. Maybe facial expressions?

_"Jackson can hear us,"_ McCall said, then raised his voice. _"And he just mentioned a good point — what about Peter?"_

_"I didn't murder him!"_ Stilinski snapped, while suddenly he sounded like he was stomping closer and closer.

"He helped, that makes him an accessory to murder," Jackson said into the empty air of the prisoner transport van, as two more sets of footsteps followed the first one.

_"Jackson says you'd be an accessory to murder since you helped,"_ McCall said, just as the doors swung open again. Stilinski stood there, one hand on each door as he leaned his weight inward while he glared at Jackson.

"So did you," Stilinski snapped, as McCall and Allison appeared behind him. "What does that make you?"

"One, not a kanima!" Jackson snapped. "And two, I didn't even do anything, I just brought that Molotov cocktail-"

"Which would be felony arson," Stilinski countered, letting go of the doors to cross his arms. "Besides, Derek was defending himself when he killed Peter."

"Oh, please," Jackson sneered. "Derek needed to kill Peter to be an alpha. If that's not malice aforethought, I don't know what is."

"It wasn't premeditated," Stilinski snapped. "We all just wanted to get out of there alive, not kill someone. It's not any of our faults that Kate and Peter were complete psychopaths who didn't make that possible without killing them, first."

"So that makes it second-degree, not first," Jackson argued with a sneer. "Still murder. Capital murder, if you count the alpha-boost as a personal gain as a direct result of the homicide-"

"You and me were accessories to involuntary manslaughter at most," Stiles practically sneered.

“Uh, guys?” McCall tried to intervene.

"'Involuntary', my ass!" Jackson cut him off with. "Derek knew what he was doing when he ripped out Peter's throat, and it's not like you didn't realize what setting the guy on fire would do to his chances of surviving the fight." He started counting off on his fingers. "Willful and deliberate action, intended consequence was death, and-"

"It was justifiable homicide!" Stilinski cried out.

“Guys…?” McCall tried again.

"Hale was incapacitated already, that automatically negates self-defense," Jackson said. "Derek stalked up to the guy and literally ripped his throat out. That's practically the definition of 'intentional infliction of serious bodily harm'-"

"Peter was an _alpha werewolf_ ," Stilinski said, drawing out the words like Jackson was the idiot, here. "He could heal!"

"But not fast enough to kill them before safe exit from the vicinity," Jackson said, jerking on the chains for emphasis. "Derek didn't need to kill him at that point, but he did. It was second-degree murder, which makes you an accessory-"

" _Guys!_ " McCall cut in. Allison looked between Jackson and Stilinski, bewildered. "I hate to say this, but neither of your dads' jobs apply, here. I don't think a supernatural creature is going to be deciding who to kill based on California penal codes."

"Then how does it choose? And how does it decide if someone is a murderer?" Allison asked. "Is someone still a murderer if they only killed to defend themselves, or save someone else's life? What if someone only caused a death, but didn't actually kill?"

"See, this is why the justice system is based on codes and laws that are thought out and written down," Stilinski said. "Not just whatever fairytale sounds the prettiest when it's read outloud."

"There are so many things wrong with this system," McCall muttered.

"You don't need to tell me," Jackson growled. "I'm not the killer, and I can't believe I'm saying this, but Stilinski and Allison have a point. We have 'justifiable homicide' for a reason. Whoever _is_ the killer probably doesn't care about human law."

"Look," McCall said, pushing his indignant friend to the side to crawl up into the van and sit across from Jackson, just out of reach. "I know you don't remember-"

"I don't remember because I didn't do it!" Jackson shouted. McCall winced, and Jackson continued. "I'm not a killer. I don't even _know_ those people who were killed. Besides, I already told Stilinski, I was at home for all the murders. I've been getting migraines."

"That's awfully convenient," Stilinski said.

"Spoken like someone who's never had a migraine," Jackson grumbled. "I'm not a killer, but that might not last if you don't let me out right now."

McCall shook his head apologetically. "I'm sorry, but we can't let you kill anyone else."

"I'm NOT. THE. _KILLER!_ "

McCall actually flinched back, Jackson's yell echoing in the van.

"...I'm sorry," McCall repeated quietly.

"What would you even do if I were the killer, huh?" Jackson challenged. "Keep me here forever?"

"No," Allison said regretfully, shuffling her feet and ducking her head.

"We'd just kill you," Stilinski said.

"Stiles!" McCall cried out, but Stilinski didn't flinch.

"What?" Stilinski said, ignoring Jackson’s stare to challenge Scott. "We have to stop him from killing everyone else, and we can't actually hold him prisoner forever."

“He risked his life for us!” McCall snapped, and he sounded — angry? “Against Peter! Remember that?”

…why was McCall defending Jackson? McCall hated him.

“Yes, but we just found out he got the Bite from Derek right after," Stilinski said. "It’s funny, how he got exactly what he wanted after he supposedly risked his life for us.”

Well, at least that explained some of why Stilinski could be so casual about killing him.

"I didn't help you just to get the Bite," Jackson cut in. "I helped because you were going after the guy who attacked Lydia."

"Oh, so you're willing to help kill for her, but you won't support her when she's traumatized by it?" Stiles challenged. "Or is it just that you're only willing to help her as long as it makes you look good?"

Jackson scowled again.

"Look, he doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Scott started, and Jackson snorted at that. Did any of them know what the hell they were doing?

“So what?” Stilinski challenged.

“So...I didn’t either!”

Jackson glared down at his shaking hands.

Stupid hands and stupid everything else. He couldn’t even turn into a werewolf or just die or something _useful_ -

“Remember that time _I_ tried to kill you and Jackson?” Scott said, addressing Allison. She bit her lip, and nodded. Scott nodded. “I had somebody to stop me.” Pointing at Jackson, he said, “He has nobody!”

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

Still, Jackson scowled. "I'm right _here_!" He hated how thick his voice was — it must've been obvious that he was talking around a lump in his throat.

He wasn’t this stupid, he wasn’t this emotional, and he wasn’t this dependent.

"We'll try everything we can," Scott said, addressing Jackson directly. "We want to save as many people as possible, but that means keeping you here so you don't kill anyone else."

"I won't be killing anyone," Jackson said, drawing out the word as clearly as possible. "Because I'm not the killer!"

All three of them sighed, and Jackson's scowl deepened.

"I'm sorry," Scott repeated again, and slipped out the back of the van with an ease that Jackson envied.

Allison closed the doors with regret clear in her eyes, and Jackson shut his eyes and slumped forward as soon as the doors locked.

_"I was listening to his heartbeat,"_ Scott said outside, three sets of footsteps meandering away. _"He believed what he was saying."_

_"Or he knows how to control his heartbeat,"_ Stiles said. _"It's not that difficult. There's a reason why detectives don't use polygraphs that much."_

_"I think he's telling the truth,"_ Allison said. _"It's just that it doesn't mean much. If Jackson doesn't know anything, then someone is using him, and we're back to square one._

_"I still say we just kill him,"_ Stilinski said. _"And make sure the world is safe from him permanently."_

_"We can't just kill him because it's convenient!"_ Scott snapped. _"We have to try to save him. No one else is going to help him, and if we can save him, we have to do it."_

_"Scott,"_ Stilinski started.

_"No!"_ Scott said. _"We just — he doesn't have anyone else."_

Jackson inhaled, deep and shaky and desperate.

He wasn’t a child and he wasn’t going to cry, he was better than that-

_“That’s his own damn fault,”_ Stilinski said.

He shuddered and leaned back against the wall as a disobedient tear slid down his cheek.

On this, Stilinski was right.

Jackson had people in his corner. He knew that. He knew that his parents had stayed in his corner, and they hadn’t expected that much in return. Good grades, good at sports, and good behavior. Apart from the occasional speeding ticket, Jackson either managed it all or faked it well enough. And that helped him be enough for Lydia, who only needed him to be enough to keep up with her. Out of everyone in the school, Jackson was easily her best option.

Until Scott and Stilinski, anyway. The rising new lacrosse player and the only other person as smart as her. But they were two people, and Jackson was nearly able to take all of that and put it in his one, lonesome self. He could’ve been the perfect son, the perfect boyfriend, the perfect everything.

Instead, his parents had no idea what to do with him, he dumped Lydia, and now he was even ignoring Danny.

But still…killing Jackson? Because they thought he might be a serial killer?

God, Jackson hoped it was bluster.

Jackson didn’t know about his chances against Scott or Allison, but he could take on Stilinski no problem, and Stilinski was the only one who actively wanted him dead.

But Jackson really did not want to be on the lacrosse team with a psychopath.

It had to be bluster — Stilinski was too much his father’s son to be able to kill someone in cold blood.

(He hoped. It wasn’t like he could ever forget seeing the boy light the alpha on fire. But the monstrous werewolf had been about to kill them all…and Jackson had kind of helped...)

_“How long can we keep him here?”_ Allison finally asked.

_“This particular spot, not for long,”_ Stilinski said. _“But as long as we keep moving around…a while, if we need to.”_

That was ominous.

How long could they really keep him? More importantly, how long would they?

_“Let’s try to avoid that,”_ Scott said. _“We don’t know if the police can track the van, somehow-”_

_“I disabled the tracking chip!”_ Stilinski said, indignant.

_“-or who might see it and tell them,”_ Scott continued.

_“Who’s there to tell?”_ Allison said. Her voice sounded thick, like she was trying not to cry, but her tone was pragmatic. All the sentiment of a teenage girl and all the practicality of a Hunter. _“I don’t think those crows are going to tell the police about us.”_

_“Actually, those are ravens,”_ Stilinski corrected.

Jackson couldn’t help but laugh, wet and harsh. Kidnapping, murderers, and serial killers aside, Stilinski was still an easily-distracted nerd and somehow, that just made everything even worse.

They weren’t crazy people pretending to be sane by day, like Derek. They weren’t sane people forcing themselves to be something they’re not, like Jackson or Lydia. They were just themselves, and ‘themselves’ meant moral and do-gooding people who could actually do good. They were genuinely kind and would do anything to protect people, and maybe even save Jackson if they could.

Jackson couldn’t even dream of being someone like them.

Of course, being moral might also mean killing Jackson. Stilinski already wanted to kill him, and if Allison was anything like the rest of her family, she would know how to actually do it.

With another shaky breath, he shifted his weight and thumped his head back against the wall. They still hadn’t decided what to do with him, and that meant he couldn’t plan for how to get away.

He shivered, and knew it had nothing to do with the actual chill of the prisoner van.

His hands stung.

His hands stung, and-

No.

His skin simmered blue in the corner of his eye. Feeling his veins freeze in horror, Jackson lowered his gaze to his hands.

To the scales on his hands.

…no…

This was a trick. They drugged him, or maybe he was just losing his mind, like some demented Stockholm Syndrome. He shook his head like he could get rid of his sudden dizziness like that-

-nonononono-

This was not happening, he was bitten by a werewolf, not a lizard, there was no way this was possible.

There couldn't be.

Jackson wasn't a killer.

_It’s not me it’s not me it’s not me it’s not-_

~*~

Several weeks later, and he still wasn’t.

Jackson sighed in relief when Mr. Carlyle’s classroom was empty. No need to keep his voice down or come up with some weird excuse to another student about why he was talking to Mr. Carlyle about his bio paper.

Which was great because Jackson still wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to Mr. Carlyle about it, himself. He got one of those migraines that he’d been getting since Derek Bit him, and lost most of the night that he’d set aside to work on it. It’d been a half-assed job done the next morning, and Jackson couldn’t fault his teacher for giving him a C on it.

But he’d charmed teachers into giving him extensions and second-chances before. And now, he had a restraining order against two fellow students on paper. It wouldn’t be too hard to chalk up the shitty paper to the stress of getting bullied and stalked by his classmates.

For now, though, the classroom was empty even of Mr. Carlyle himself, so he waited.

As he waited, he went over to the tanks on the side of the room. Not that the animals in there did much. Jackson was halfway convinced that the tarantula was fake, it seemed to move so little.

The snake was interesting, at least. Looked almost lonely, though. Did reptiles even get lonely? They weren’t social animals.

Still, those scales looked so smooth, he wanted to pet it.

So he did.

Or at least he thought he did — except when he blinked, the tank was closed, the snake was untouched, and Mr. Carlyle was standing in the doorway asking Jackson, “Do you still want to talk about your paper?”

Yes.

“No,” Jackson said. Wait, what? “I, uh — forgot something, and I don’t want to rush either of us. May I come after school? Won’t be long, it’ll just be longer than-” He pointed up at the clock. “Three minutes.”

“Of course,” Mr. Carlyle said, with a slow and considering nod. “Are you feeling okay, Jackson? You don’t look too great.”

Jackson smiled, a winning smile that seemed to make Mr. Carlyle flinch.

“I’ll be fine, sir,” he lied, and walked back out of the classroom.

He only spared a glance back at the snake tank. The snake was unbothered and might not even know that Jackson was ever there.

He found himself oddly disappointed about that.

But, he had more important things to do, like take a shower.

He’d just taken one this morning, per his usual routine, but he didn’t feel right. A shower. That’s right, that would fix him, make him feel better.

If he could, he’d take the day off and go home and take a bath, except baths were dangerous, people can _drown_ in baths, so no, a shower, the school’s shitty showers worked just for him-

Was someone following him?

He could’ve sworn he heard someone.

But he didn’t see anyone behind him. He was all alone in the hallway.

So he shook it off, went into the locker room — his head was pounding, he just wanted to take a shower and maybe some Advil.

Thankfully, the locker room was almost empty, the only other person there being Matt, who was fully dressed. He must’ve just finished a shower of his own.

“Seeya,” Matt greeted him with, and Jackson shrugged out of his clothes as Matt finished tying his shoes, shouldered his backpack, and headed out.

Jackson rolled his eyes when he heard Matt talking to Allison just outside. Jesus, Danny was so obnoxiously right about Matt’s crush on her. Allison acquiesced to going to that stupid rave with him. Even from all the way over here, Jackson could tell she didn’t really care about him. How desperate _was_ Matt?

He didn’t care. He just finished stripping and stepped under the water.

Unfortunately, rather than helping, his headache only seemed to get worse.

And worse, like there was something inside his brain trying to hammer its way out through his skull.

And _worse_ , until he was going blind with the pain and had to hunch over himself, desperate for it to stop.

Jackson didn’t know what happened next.

But _something_ must have, because next thing he knew, he was on the other side of the locker room, falling over and landing on top of-

“Allison?” he asked, scrambling off of her. “What are you doing here?”

She stared at him like he was crazy, and looked him up and down.

Jackson’s eyes widened in horror as he realized he was naked.

He looked around, grabbing the nearest pair of shorts he can find.

“What just happened?” he asked. She flinched, backing away into a corner — _away_ from him. What the hell? She was the one in the boys’ locker room spying on him nude!

Before she could answer, or he could ask more questions, the door slammed open, and McCall was there.

Watching Jackson pull on his shorts as his girlfriend cowered in the corner.

“I — I'm fine,” Allison said, not sounding like it at all.

She might as well have not spoken, because that alien fury spread across Scott’s face as Jackson pulled his shorts up, his heart beating so hard Jackson was sure that even humans could hear it.

“I'm fine,” she tried again, to no avail as her boyfriend ran right towards Jackson. “Scott, I'm fine!” Jackson tried to back away, but he stood no chance against a pissed off werewolf, and Scott threw him into the lockers without breaking a sweat.

The loud clanging of metal against metal and concrete rang in his ears, in time with Allison’s screamed, “ _Scott!_ ”

Cold, dented metal dug into his back, as he pushed himself up on top of the mess of lockers, and glared at McCall.

Through the echos of the clanging metal still ringing in his ears, he ground out, “I have a restraining order!”

“Trust me,” Scott said, voice low in the way it only got when the idiot was losing control of himself, of his werewolf self. “I restrained myself.”

With a snarl, Jackson threw himself at McCall.

The other boy needed to change species entirely to be able to lift someone up. Jackson had done that — had done that, had led the lacrosse team, done _all_ of this — with nothing but human hard work.

He had to break a sweat or two, but he didn’t have a problem throwing McCall around.

No problem throwing McCall at the open equipment rack, knocking it over, the creaking metal drowning in the sound of Allison’s scream.

McCall had no problem slamming him into the wall by the sink. The a few chunks of ceramic tile cracked and crashed down to the ground, shattering and filling the air with dust as Jackson picked Scott up and threw him into the shower.

“Guys!” Allison demanded, just from the edges of the fight.

Jackson ignored her, peeling McCall off the floor and slamming him into the wall.

He expected McCall to try and utilize his new strength, and wasn’t expecting the complicated move that hit Jackson’s head against the wall beside them and left him groaning on the floor. But when Scott tried to descend on him, he brought his legs up, planting his feet on McCall’s stomach and pushing with all the might in his legs he could muster, sending McCall flying through the air and into the wall.

Jackson grinned at all the tiles he’d managed to crack. He stood up, smirking at the groaning boy on the floor, then strode out, rolling his shoulders.

“This is the boys’ locker room, by the way,” he sneered at Allison. “You don’t belong here.”

Instead of answering, she looked over Jackson’s shoulder — and up.

He turned around just in time to see McCall parkouring his way over the goddamn shower wall, launching himself off the top edge at Jackson.

With another, totally human snarl, Jackson grabbed one of the weights lying around and threw it at McCall — who caught it, because human strength still had nothing on werewolf strength. Jackson wasn’t sure anything outside of the Avengers did.

Still, it distracted McCall enough for Jackson to grab hold of his shirt. Except McCall used Jackson’s grip as leverage, dropping his weight to flip Jackson over his head and throw right out the door, out into the hallway.

Jackson’s entire back throbbed in time with his head, but he still pushed himself up with a groan, paying no attention to the mess of students he could see out of the corner of his eye clustering at the ends of the hallway.

He reached up to try and meet McCall, who was descending on him with brown eyes and fists flying. Jackson was going to pummel him, anyway, no matter what their species were.

He tried to, at least.

McCall wasn’t the only werewolf in this school, and Erica had no trouble pulling Jackson away. He fought, trying to slam his fists backward at her to get her to let him go, he needed to get to McCall. Stiles, despite being weak for a _human_ let alone a werewolf, was holding back Scott.

“Hey! What the hell is going on?” Jackson heard. He stilled as he realized a teacher was striding down the hall — that _Harris_ was coming right at them.

Stiles finally let go of McCall, who wiped a hand through his now-damp hair as he slumped against the wall opposite of Jackson — who fought hard to stay standing straight as he realized he was in nothing but his thin little shorts as a crowd gathered all around them, Harris reaching them with Matt right behind him, ever the aspiring photo-journalist who always had to stick his nose into other people’s business.

“What do you idiots think you’re doing?” Harris demanded. “Jackson, calm down!”

Jackson took a deep breath, gritting his teeth as he debated whether or not to point out that he _was_ calm, now.

“Mr. McCall, care to explain yourself?” Harris demanded, at least pinning the blame on the right person. “Stilinski?”

Jackson didn’t say anything — because he didn’t know what the hell happened, himself. He had no idea how he ended up naked on top of Allison.

(And he knew exactly how that sounded.)

At least McCall didn’t say anything, nor Stilinski, nor even Allison. Erica let Jackson go.

Matt tried to break the tension, holding out a tablet and muttering, “Uh, you dropped this-”

Harris snatched it right out of his hand in anger. He used it to point at Jackson, then McCall, saying, “You, and you…” Then he trailed off, looking around with anger building in his eyes. “Actually…” He turned, using the tablet to gesture to them in a circle. “All of you.” Even Matt, the poor bastard. “Detention. Three o’clock.”

…well, there went his chances of making up his shitty bio paper to Mr. Carlyle.


	2. Prada

Half an hour after translating a page of Archaic Latin for Allison, and ten minutes away from home, Lydia brought her car to a screeching halt when she saw the boy walking on the sidewalk.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to chase him down. He looked up, smiling when she made a show of unlocking the door and waving to the passenger side.

The mystery boy whose name she still didn’t know — didn’t remember? — climbed into her car with a relieved sigh.

“Hey, stranger,” she said, saying the faux-title with the most playful voice she could muster. It’s been way too long for her to admit she didn’t know his name. How best to get him to tell her, without making it obvious that she’d forgotten it? “Going my way?”

Hell, she hadn’t just forgotten his name — she’d forgotten when the hell he told her in the first place. But he must’ve at some point…

…right?

“I could be,” he said with a smile. “Do you always give rides to strangers?”

“Only cute ones,” she answered, starting back on the route towards her neighborhood. “Though we can’t be that strange to each other, we go to the same school.”

He laughed. "So where are you headed, anyway?"

"No where interesting, I'm afraid," she said. "Just home."

"Any plans?"

She sighed as theatrically as she could as she took a rounded turn. "A quiet night in, researching things."

"What are you researching?"

She didn't even know his name, and already he'd showed almost twice as much attention to her as Allison did.

"Either mitochrondrial regeneration in paraluminescent radiation environments, or kanimas."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him staring at her.

"I don't know what those are," he admitted after a few moments. At least he was honest — and didn't seem to feel the need to cover up that admission of ignorance, either.

She grinned.

"Most people don't know the first one."

"...so what's the second one, then?" he asked, sounding wary as she took a sharp turn.

"No idea," she said with false cheer. "But since my best friend is looking into them, I might as well figure out what they are." Gripping the steering wheel, she added, "Maybe then, we can actually talk."

For a moment, there was silence.

_Great going, Martin,_ she cursed herself. _Unloading this much of your personal crap onto a near-stranger._

"Doesn't sound like much of a best friend," the boy said, picking through his words. "If you guys don't talk."

Lydia sighed, easing to a stop at the last red light before home. "She's going through a lot, right now."

"And you aren't?" he asked, the quiet question ringing in the space of her car.

She didn't answer, instead taking her turn when the light turned green, driving on toward her neighborhood.

"Where do you live?" she asked.

"If you could just drop me off at the corner, that would be great," he said, smiling with genuine gratitude. "Thanks for the ride."

"Thanks for the company," she said, pulling up to the corner he pointed to it.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door without ceremony, his feet hitting the asphalt without making a sound. Before he actually climbed out, though, he looked over his shoulder at her.

"I don't know what a kanima is, and the only thing I know about a mitochondria is that it's the powerhouse of the cell," he began, a smile unfurling at her laugh. "But I'm still happy to talk."

"Looking forward to it," she said. "See you at school!"

She expected him to just leave after that. Indeed, he did clamber out of her car. However, instead of closing the door, he walked over to the hedge on the border of someone's yard, plucked something off of it, and returned to her, leaning over the passenger seat.

"Thanks for the ride," he said, handing her a small, violet-colored flower, though Lydia was pretty sure it wasn't actually a violet. She didn't know much about flowers at all, and clearly this was a serious deficiency she'd need to correct soon.

But that would be dealt with later. For now, she took the flower, and tucked it behind her ear along with her hair.

"You're welcome," she reiterated. "Though I don't know if this counts as a good gift when you just stole it from someone else."

The boy laughed. "Well, next time we see each other, I'll give you something better." Was it her imagination, or was that a twinkle in his eye? Who was she kidding, of course this wasn't in her head — he was _absolutely_ flirting with her. "Just bring that back so I can..." He looked over his shoulder at the hedge, shrugged, then looked back at her. "Return it."

She rolled her eyes, but her smile didn't fade. "Like I said, I'll see you at school."

Her smile didn’t fade even as this time, he closed the door and walked away, as she drove home, and as she pulled into her garage.

The smile only faded when she realized she still didn't have his name — let alone any other way to reach out to him. Maybe she could ask him for a phone number? She could create a new contact for him and ask him to spell his name for her, and pray his name wasn't easy to spell. Well, they lived in the suburbs. Enough people spelled their kids' names 'uniquely' that it wouldn't be too awkward to check, right?

With a plan in hand, her smile returned.

That smile grew into a grin when she checked her e-mail before bed. Waiting for her was a new e-mail from Dr. B. Banner, with the subject line, "γ is both a constant and a variable".

If Lydia cried a little when she opened the e-mail to see a picture of the equation from her letter to Dr. Banner, with corrections and commentary underneath it…well, she was all alone, right now. No one had to know.

She didn't need Allison, or Jackson, or anybody else from school or their secrets. She had two total strangers who cared about her more than they did, she had National Merit scores from her PSAT with an AP Schedule, and she had a fantastic birthday party all planned out and ready to go. She had a beautiful purple flower from her mystery boy admirer, which she held while reading a personal letter from one of the most prominent scientists in the world.

What did it matter that she was missing some memories and time, when she had all this?

She was Lydia Martin, and she was doing just _fine_.

~*~

She still had to _remind_ herself of this a few weeks later, after the stupid fight in the locker-room landed half her friends in detention.

"I won't be able to study with you, today," Allison murmured to Lydia towards the end of their chemistry class.

As usual, they finished before everyone else in the class. Lydia was already working on her independent study for the AP test, but didn’t pay that much attention to it. After all, the best part of this class was supposed to be having it with Allison. It was supposed to mean that they always had some time to whisper to each other, usually finalizing plans for after school.

Or canceling them — like now.

"Why not?" she demanded.

"I got detention," Allison said, swallowing and not looking up from her worksheet.

"Ugh, did _everyone_ get detention today?" Lydia demanded.

"Sort of," Allison said. "There was a fight and Harris showed up and didn't want to hear anyone's side of the story, so he gave everyone detention."

Lydia glanced around the room. In front, she could see Stiles and Scott at another table — Scott writing, but Stiles talking. Most likely, Stiles was doing the actual mental leg work and Scott was merely writing down what he said, but who could know for sure. Somewhere behind her, she was sure Erica was perching on her stool, and at least two boys somewhere in the room would be nervously admiring her.

How Erica could change so much over one weekend was a mystery Lydia was still working on. Or, well, planning to work on — after she figured out what the hell was Jackson's problem, what Allison was hiding from her, and why Scott and Stiles were acting so weird lately.

And what was wrong with herself.

She didn't want to think about that, right now.

"What happened?" Lydia asked, trying to take her mind off her own problems. "I tried asking Stiles, but he wouldn't say anything."

"What about Jackson?" Allison countered. “What’d he say?”

With a flip of her hair, Lydia answered, "We're still not talking."

Allison nodded, distracted by her worksheet — despite the fact she was done, too. After all, it was _Lydia_ she’d copied off of.

"I was trying to talk to Jackson about something," she asked. "I went into the locker room, except he'd just gotten out of the shower. He tripped and fell, but Scott showed up and took it the wrong way. I guess Erica and Stiles heard the commotion, since they showed up right behind him."

Lydia frowned. "Tripped and fell?" she asked incredulously.

Allison didn't notice Lydia's disbelief, starting to quietly pack up her notebook, binder, and chem book. "Yeah, it was — kind of stupid. But since I was there, and I kind of started the fight — detention."

Lydia pursed her lips in thought.

After a moment, she finally asked, "Is this payback for the time I made out with Scott?"

With shocked-wide eyes, Allison turned to stare at her. "What?!" she hissed, glancing at Harris. Their teacher was helping someone else and not paying any attention to them.

"'He tripped and fell on me' is a cliche," Lydia said. "I'm not sure why you'd go after my ex-boyfriend, especially when-"

"I wasn't!" Allison cried out. Harris — and half of the rest of the class — turned to stare at them. "Sorry," Allison said sheepishly. Harris rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the pair he was helping. Everyone else looked at them warily.

Apparently, Allison and Lydia were turning into 'the crazy table'.

Whatever. They'd get over it.

Eventually.

"I wasn't," Allison repeated under her breath. "I honestly just wanted to talk to him. He's been avoiding me, and I figured if I cornered him in the locker room, he'd have no choice but to at least give me a minute."

"...oh," Lydia said.

"Lydia, please," Allison begged under her breath. "You have to believe me."

"I do," Lydia said. Before Allison could look relieved, though, she added, "Unfortunately."

Allison frowned, but before either of them could say anything, the bell rang. The class erupted into the organized chaos of everyone packing up and leaving the room as fast as they could.

Except for Allison and Lydia, despite the fact they were already packed and ready to go.

"What do you mean?" Allison asked, her voice now at a normal volume.

With half of a sigh, Lydia slid off of her stool and smoothed out her skirt. She shouldered her bag, made sure her outfit was still intact, and only then did she look up at the girl who was the closest thing to a best friend she had, right now.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Stiles trying to drag Scott out of the room. She wondered if Erica or Isaac were still around, but didn't really care.

"I came to your house when I needed to talk about something and you wouldn't give me the time of day," Lydia said. "Meanwhile, you go through the trouble of tracking down and cornering Jackson for the same reason. I believe you, Allison, when you say nothing happened between you and him and that it wasn't about me. I believe you, and that's the problem."

Before Allison could say a word, Lydia turned sharply on her new heels and walked away.

This wouldn't be the first time Lydia's lost a best friend. But god, she'd been hoping it would be the last.

She wondered why she still kept trying.

Heading straight for her locker, she smiled as she saw her mystery boy waiting for her by it.

“Hey, stranger,” she murmured, turning the combination lock with barely a glance.

“Hey,” he said, watching as she put her books away. “You busy after school?”

Not at all.

“Always,” she answered, closing her locker.

“Well, unbusy yourself,” he said. “I wanna talk to you.” He paused, as she side-eyed him and his demands. “Actually…I want to show you something.”

She huffed as she crossed her arms.

“I thought we’d gotten past the slightly rapey language,” she murmured, lowering her voice even more lest the handful of other students around get the wrong idea.

Her mystery boy just shrugged sheepishly, but didn’t actually apologize.

“Hmm…” she hummed, before shaking her head, thinking about those dating books she’d binged last summer. The male ego dictated that they take the active, leading role in any relationship — but feminine mystique relied on not letting them have total control, on making them _work_ for that leadership. “I’ve got better things to do for today…” She curled her lips up into a coy smile. “But what do you have planned for Spring Break?”

Her mystery boy just smiled.

“How about I surprise you?” he offered.

Without giving her a chance to answer, he pushed off the lockers and started to walk away.

Then he stopped and looked back at her.

“Bring the flower,” he said with a wink, then kept walking away.

_Well_ , then.

She couldn’t help her smile as she turned and walked in the other direction — towards the library.

Without Allison to talk to, Lydia had no plans to subject herself to the cafeteria just yet.

In the library, she sat herself down in front of a computer, typing in her Student ID number and unwrapping a power bar under the table as it loaded. She stole little bites in between getting online and into her e-mail.

She had a draft of a letter to one of the world’s most famous scientists she needed to finish.

And then she had a date to look forward to.

Life was looking up for Lydia.


	3. Armani

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final part of this chapter, the one that begins "The morning after Lydia’s birthday party", is the only really new part of this story. The rest are Danny scenes previously published in Talking Cure, compiled here altogether.

Danny had spent over an hour barely able to move, he ended up in the hospital, and when he finally recovered by morning, it was to Scott asking him about Jackson.

And of course, the icing on the shit cake of Danny’s day:

“Did the cops have to take my fake ID?” he whined, staring down at the empty slot in his wallet.

Scott was just there to ask about the video Danny had been restoring for Jackson. When Danny bemoaned the latest addition to his crappy day, he hadn’t expected anything from the other boy.

So it threw him for a loop when Scott said, “What if I told you I could get your fake ID back?”

Danny frowned at his wallet, not looking up at Scott.

But not because he was actually considering the offer — just considering all the weirdness that's been going around, and was likely to start wrapping around him if he helped Scott.

Things have already been weird ever since he helped Stiles.

Part of Danny wanted to tell Scott no. Just go back to his daily — and nightly — life and not worry about whatever the hell was going on at his school and in this town.

The rest of him wanted answers.

In the mild chill of the hospital room, Danny looked speculatively at Scott. He glanced between the boy and his wallet as he weighed the cost of Jackson finding out he said anything...against the cost of a new ID.

“…he’s sleeping,” Danny finally said, voice quiet in latent shame. No one liked being the tattle-tale.

Scott frowned. “What?”

“It’s just a video of him sleeping,” Danny said, folding the wallet and putting it in his back pocket. “He moves and twists around on the bed a lot, and that’s about it. Video just cuts out eventually, close to morning.”

Scott frowned at the bed, like what Danny said made no sense. Fair enough — it didn’t make much sense to Danny, either, except…well. He only had to tell Scott what was on the video — he didn’t need to add his own opinion on what might have really been happening or what it meant.

"But," Danny continued. "A couple hours of the video is missing."

“Missing?”

“Part of it was deleted…and I can’t get that part back.”

Scott sucked in a breath, and bracing himself against the bed railing, he seemed to sink deep into thought.

“I hope that helped,” Danny added.

“I think it will,” Scott said absently. He shook his head and tapped his hands against the foot-rail of the hospital bed one more time.

Danny narrowed his eyes.

“You don’t look surprised,” he said. Scott blinked, shaken out of his deep thoughts, and Danny continued. “To hear that part of it is missing.”

“Jackson already said as much,” Scott admitted. “I was hoping you might…know more.”

"...do you know what happened, last night?" Danny asked. "Or at least who it was that drugged us all?"

"No," Scott admitted, looking away. Was that because he was lying, or he just didn't want to admit it was the truth? "It's all just...weird."

Danny snorted. "You're telling me." Scott looked at him in askance, and Danny elaborated, "One serial killer shows up in town, dies, and then immediately another one takes her place?" He shook his head. "Something else is going on, something big." He looked around the hospital room, and sighed. "You really don't know what happened?"

Scott swallowed again, and this definitely meant he was lying earlier. "We're still trying to figure things out."

"Who's 'we'?" Danny asked.

The look Scott gave the bed spread was surprisingly forlorn, especially coming from a guy Danny hadn't seen frown since the third grade.

"I'm not even sure, anymore," Scott said softly, looking away.

Then, he gave Danny one of the most forced smiles he’d ever seen in his life.

And he was friends with Jackson and Lydia, so that was really saying something.

“Thank you, by the way," Scott said with utmost sincerity. "For telling me about the video. You may have just saved a life."

Danny stared, confused.

He wanted to ask what that meant, but Scott was already gone from the room.

For a few minutes, he stared out the door incredulously.

What the hell was going on? He rubbed at the back of his neck, before wincing at the cuts still there from the…whatever it was that happened last night. Someone on drugs, definitely. And getting it into the air somehow, from the looks of it, given the number of people hallucinating a giant lizard on the dance floor.

Maybe someone had a weird costume or something, though that just begged a lot of its own questions, too.

“First 'Miguel', now this,” Danny muttered to himself, shaking his head. With a forlorn sigh, he finished getting dressed and checking his phone.

Damn; he only had like 10% battery left on it. This would have to be a quick call, then, since the encrypted communications took up so much energy.

At least it actually was a call, and not leaving a message.

The phone only rang twice, before _th3op3nsky3_ picked up, answering, “Hey, Cubie, what’s up?”

Danny sighed, listening to a cheep door bell in the background of wherever she was. “Hey, Skye. I…did something stupid.”

“How stupid are we talking?” she asked. There was another beep of a cheap door-bell, followed by the sound of a lot of cars. She must be at a gas-station.

“Um, you know that fake ID you got me? I kinda used it to get into a bar.”

“…okay,” she said, in measured tones. He heard the sound of an old van door sliding open. “How did they check the IDs? Did they use a digital credential-”

“No, no, it’s not that, it’s just a bouncer with a black light,” he said, listening to the sound of a lot of plastic crinkling against metal. Was she living off of gas-station food again? Whatever, that wasn’t important. “But, um, there was some kinda mass drugging incident or something? I don’t know, but the end result is that I got hospitalized-”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, but the cops took my fake,” he said. “We’re gonna have to burn it.”

She sighed, and there was a fleshy plop that Danny was pretty sure was a facepalm. “All right. I’m in the middle of nowhere, right now, but once I get settled in tonight, we’ll take care of it.”

Danny sighed. “I won’t be as stupid with the next one.”

“That’s because you’re gonna get two of them, one for us and one for you to use to sneak into bars,” she said, with a laugh. Danny winced, but nodded despite the fact she couldn’t see it. Technically, that’s what he _should’ve_ done the first time.

“Will do,” he said. “And I’m really sorry.”

“At least it was only lost over this, and not something more serious,” she said. Danny listened to her start the van. “Did you at least have fun before…whatever went down?”

Danny sighed. “No.”

“Well, you live and you learn,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Do you remember that crime junkie from the message board? There’s some weird stuff going down in my town, and I might need some help investigating.

“I’ll send you the name later,” Skye said. “I gotta go, I’ll call you tonight.”

He wished her luck on her upcoming SHIELD surveillance, bid her a distracted farewell, and hung up — quickly exiting all the encryption before it drained his battery completely.

Danny didn’t know what the hell has been going on with Jackson, lately, but after something like this, he was going to find out.

To do that, he was probably going to have to violate his court order.

Again.

~*~

Less than a month later, he did.

With Spring Break around the corner, and the cause of the library explosion (and thus the risk to the rest of the school) still unknown, school shut down a day early.

That left a few unattended cars at school, after several kids had to be rushed to the hospital yesterday.

Including Jackson’s Porsche — which Danny leaned against as he waited for its owner.

The lot was pretty quiet. Not everyone bothered to check their phones or e-mails this early in the morning, so every few minutes some kid would pull up to the school in a car. They'd look around the empty lot and the closed doors, shrug, and drive away.

A few loitered, checking their phones in confusion — especially since the teachers were still showing up, presumably to round out some last-minute business before they started their own break.

Danny supposed he wasn’t helping, either, standing there with his backpack.

There were two other cars waiting in the lot, Matt’s and Allison’s.

Inexplicably, Stiles’ jeep also pulled up to the school. Danny doubted Stiles would have missed the alert about the school’s early closure. But then, there were a lot of things Danny would never have imagined happening up until a few months ago, or even a few weeks ago.

Even weirder: they parked on the other side of the lot from the waiting cars, but made no move to get out.

…were they watching _Allison’s_ car?

That was a level of creepy that Danny did not understand, and didn’t really want to.

(Though he also got the feeling he wouldn’t have a choice.)

A few minutes later, the Mrs. Whittemore’s familiar BMW pulled up by the parking gate. Jackson clambered out of his mom’s car, not even looking over to the Porsche yet as he said something to his mom, closed the door, and waved as she drove away.

He turned around, and spotted Danny. Even from a hundred yards away, Danny could see him sigh in something like defeat as he made his way over.

"Dude!" Danny called out, as soon as Jackson was in ear shot. "What the hell happened, yesterday?"

"That's none of your business," Jackson ground out, coming to a halt by the hood of the Porsche. "Now get off my car."

Danny crossed his arms, leaning even further back against the driver's side door. "Not until you tell me what happened in the library."

"...I don't remember," Jackson started.

"Bullshit!" Danny snapped.

"And even if I did, it's none of your business!" Jackson finished, all but shouting.

"Yeah, it is," Danny snapped, unfolding his arms and shifting his weight. "Just because _you_ forgot we’re best friends, doesn’t mean _I_ have.”

It took him a moment to realize he'd stood up completely, pushing away from the car in a desperate attempt to loom over Jackson. Unfortunately, it was a moment too long. Jackson reached over and yanked the door open — one which he must've unlocked remotely.

Danny hip-checked it shut. "NO!" he snapped.

Between all the confused kids in the student lot and the teachers milling around the lot by the school doors, Danny was sure his shout drew a lot of attention toward them. He didn't care.

"Danny," Jackson pleaded.

That stopped him.

Because Jackson was-

Well.

Jackson.

He was the cockiest asshole ever to walk the halls of Beacon Hills High School. He never stopped acting like he thought he was better than everyone, and unless he was trying to sweet-talk someone or charm a girl, he never said 'please'.

Jackson Whittemore was incapable of begging for anything.

Until now.

Danny looked his angry best friend up and down.

"...you're not kidding," he realized, his gut sinking through the asphalt beneath his feet. "You really don't remember, do you?"

"That's none of your business," Jackson repeated, his firm voice shaking. "Now stop blocking my car!"

Danny eased back, freeing the door to Jackson's car, but not pushing away from it.

"Why don't you remember?" Danny demanded. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong," Jackson started, reaching for the handle again.

"Does it have to do with what happened to Lydia?" Danny demanded. "Or — after?"

Jackson frowned, fingers resting against the handle, but not opening his car door. "What do you mean, 'after'?"

Danny crossed his arms again. "Lydia went crazy at the same time you started acting weird." He reached out to poke Jackson in the chest. "Scott and Stiles are acting weird _again_ — and the last time they were, it ended with Scott’s girlfriend’s aunt turning out to be a serial killer and the one behind all those deaths…except people are still dying-” He jerked his head back, toward the jeep still lurking on the other side of the lot. “ _They’re_ still acting weird, and then they _kidnapped_ you!” And now they were here stalking people. Again. Hell, they were probably watching this fight right now. “On top of that, you keep zoning out, forgetting things, ditching me and the team-! This isn’t like you, Jackson.”

Jackson's jaw clenched. "I have migraines," he lied, opening the car door and sliding into his car.

Danny didn't let him settle in the seat. He wrapped a hand around Jackson's bicep and yanked him back out, nearly clipping Jackson's head before slamming him against the backseat window.

Then he grimaced as he realized what he’d done. Forget everyone else acting weird — how had Danny been forced to resort to such aggressive tactics _so quickly_?

Despite the mounting self-disgust, he didn’t let go of Jackson.

People were _dying_.

"The hell you do!" Danny snapped. “After everything that’s happened, you expect me to believe that? You don’t even sound like _you_ believe it!” He swallowed, then said in a softer voice, “Dude, I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“I don’t need your help,” Jackson snarled.

Danny opened his mouth to try and lay out all of Jackson's bullshit in one go.

But before he could, Jackson brought his arm up and managed to elbow Danny right in the shoulder, shoving him against the Porsche. Danny's backpack dug into his kidneys as what felt like a small train slammed into his shoulder.

Danny shouted in pain, crumpling by the car and blinking the spots of black out of his vision as Jackson scrambled into the Porsche.

"Stay out of it!" Jackson shouted at him, before slamming the door shut.

Then the window rolled down an inch, and with a voice thick like he spoke around a lump in his throat, Jackson added, “It’s for your own good, Danny — people are _dying_.”

Danny wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of his life, but couldn’t through his aching ribcage. How could they still be thinking on the same wavelength…yet not even be in the same library, let alone on the same page?

When the Porsche roared to life, Danny managed to scramble back back, pulling his legs away from the car. In Jackson's current mood, Danny could no longer rule out the possibility of Jackson runnign over Danny's foot. (Even this close to the championship game.)

Jackson turned in his seat and looked backwards as he backed out, until he was far enough to look forward again.

When he did, Danny's breath caught at the look on his face.

At the _terror_ on Jackson’s face.

Danny opened his mouth to yell after him, but scrambling up made his back and his shoulder freeze up, tensing half his body as his nerves lit up like a wildfire. By the time he loosened up and was able to blink his way through the pain, Jackson's Porsche was gone.

For a few moments, Danny blinked stupidly from where he was sprawled across the empty parking spot, wondering-

Well, why wonder? He had some people he could answers from right here, stalking the parking lot in a beat-up blue jeep.

He pushed himself up to his feet, and made his way over. For a brief moment, Stiles looked like he was seriously considering taking off, but thankfully he just rolled down the window instead.

_  
_

_Now_ they wanted to be helpful. Of course.

If he had to deal with stalkers, he might as well see if they knew anything useful.

“Either of you wanna tell me what happened yesterday?” Danny demanded, crossing his arms. His shoulder throbbed at the motion, but right now, his biceps were pretty much the closest thing to intimidation he had — especially since he didn’t think he could resort to violence as easily as Jackson did. And Stiles. And Allison? Maybe even Scott-

“We don’t know,” Scott answered immediately.

Danny raised an eyebrow.

Yeah, even Scott.

“Then what are you doing here?” he demanded. “School’s closed.”

“We could be asking you the same question,” Stiles pointed out.

“As if you didn’t just watch me and Jackson talking,” Danny said, gritting his teeth as his shoulder throbbed.

“You call that talking?!” Stiled cried out.

He’d be happier about someone else around here seemed to be pissed at Jackson’s behavior, except for how these two were one of the causes of it.

“Why did you kidnap Jackson?” he demanded.

Stiles glanced at Scott through his rear-view mirror before answering, 

“It was a prank. It just…got a little out of hand.”

“A little?” Danny demanded, unable to contain his incredulity. “You call kidnapping someone and holding them prisoner ‘a little’ out of hand?!”

Stiles scowled, and Danny's expression darkened in kind as Stiles said, “If you knew what kind of crap he was involved in-”

“Well I don’t know!” Danny snapped, hands flying up in exasperation. Except his time, he couldn't ignore his shoulder's throbbing, and his arm dropped back to his side. “That’s the problem!”

“You wouldn’t believe us if we told you,” Stiles said, with a sickly-sweet smile. “Have a nice Spring Break.”

And then he rolled up the window, and just...ignored Danny.

Of course.

Why had Danny thought they would actually be helpful?

With an angry grunt bursting out from low in his throat, he turned around to head towards the curb where he’d parked.

But he stopped when he realized that at some point, Matt arrived, and was waving to Danny from over by his own car.

“Hey!” Matt called out, though his face started to fall as Danny approached. “I was going to ask, if…you know what, never mind-”

"What?" Danny snapped. At Matt's face, Danny took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he said. "You're not the one I'm mad at. What's up?"

"It's nothing," Matt said, shaking his head. "Based on — that." He gestured between Danny, and the jeep that still lurked in the distance. "I don't think I should-"

"What?" Danny repeated.

With a wince, Matt said, "I was going to ask what that was about, but, uh…”

Danny shook his head.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he said. He gestured toward the bandage still taped to Matt’s temple, with another one on the back of his neck. “How are you?” With a pause, he asked, “Can you tell me what happened yesterday?”

Matt shrugged, apologetic. “I don’t know,” he said, a hopeless look on his face. “I remember going through the books, sparks everywhere as lights blew out — then I guess a book fell off a shelf and hit me on the head, since everything goes kinda fuzzy. Lots of yelling, then Mrs. Argent telling me she called an ambulance and that she was calling my parents.” With an apologetic shrug, he said, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Danny said. “Not your fault that things have been…weird, lately.”

Matt nodded. “I’ve…” He made a slight coughing noise. “No one’s telling me what happened, either.”

Danny looked up in surprise.

“I mean — they’re saying it was some kind of explosion, which I guess makes sense…except I don’t remember smelling any gas. And even if there was a leak of some kind, what started it? Something still has to spark it.”

Leaning against Matt’s car, Danny admitted, “I don’t buy it, either…which is why I just went into the security office to look for footage of the explosion.”

Matt paled, and Danny winced. Right.

Most kids’ idea of spying was to pester teachers for gossip or snoop on fellow students. Breaking into offices, hacking computers, or going through security cameras scared the shit out of most people — let alone all three at once.

Danny forgot that a lot, given that it was _literally_ child’s play for him.

"What happened?" Matt asked, leaning against his car. "Did you get it?"

Danny bit his lip. "Mr. Argent caught me."

"What?!" Matt asked, eyes wide. "What did he — are you in trouble?"

Shaking his head, Danny said, "No, I — he caught me on my way out, but he only gave me a week's detention. Nothing too serious, and I can even keep my parents from finding out."

"Oh..." Matt cocked his head to the side as he fiddled with his keys. "He just let you go?"

"Yeah, after he lectured and...and stuff..." Danny pursed his lips, remembering Mr. Argent's unsettling gaze and tone of voice. "God, he's creepy. No wonder his daughter turned into a psychopath. I'm more surprised Allison and her dad _didn't_."

Matt looked sympathetic. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Danny said. "He didn't do anything, he just... _is_ creepy."

"...so did you get the video?" Matt asked a moment later. He seemed caught between wanting to know more about Mr. Argent and wanting to know about what happened to himself in the library.

"No, but only because there was no footage to take," Danny said, shrugging his over-stuffed backpack, only to wince at the pain from where Jackson hit him. "He said that there was no video because the explosion knocked out the cameras. But I was in the system...and someone deleted it, or disabled the cameras beforehand."

Matt's eyes widened. "What?!"

"Yeah," Danny said, finally setting his backpack on the ground, before reaching up to rub at his throbbing shoulder. "I took a look around when I couldn't find anything, and...well. Are you familiar with how security cameras, time-stamps, and logging systems work?"

Shaking his head, Matt frowned as he looked at the shoulder Danny was rubbing. Thankfully, he didn’t comment on it, instead answering, "Most of what I know about computers is photography stuff."

"Well, long story short, the physical cameras were fine. Something or someone either shut off the recording programs beforehand, or the cameras took footage that was deleted afterward."

"So...someone is covering up the explosion?" Matt asked. Danny nodded. "Is it Mr. Argent, or is he covering up the cover-up?"

Danny shook his head. "I have no idea." With a sigh, he added, "Are you sure you don't remember anything?"

"Positive," Matt said, gesturing to the gauze still taped to his neck and his temple. "One minute I was sorting books, next minute I was in an ambulance. My head still hurts from the concussion."

"Headaches all around," Danny muttered under his breath. At Matt's confused look, he added, "Jackson's been having migraines."

Matt pursed his lips in something that looked like frustration. Huh.

"Is that what you guys were…talking…about?" Matt asked, jerking his chin towards the middle of the lot where Jackson’s Porsche had been.

"Yeah," Danny admitted. "I just — he's already been having migraines and blackouts, and this on top of that?" He frowned, pausing to glance over his pained shoulder, though not actually looking over it. "And he shouldn't have even been there, anyway. He's got a restraining order against Scott and Stiles after they kidnapped him!"

"Wasn't it some kind of prank?" Matt asked, gaze flickering over Danny’s shoulder and toward the Jeep . At least he was smart enough not to actually turn his head and look at them.

Danny sighed. "I don't know. Stiles is an asshole and I can see him doing it, but _Scott_?" He shook his head. "There's something weird going on around here, Matt."

"You're telling me," Matt muttered. He reached out to pat Danny's good shoulder — the same shoulder Mr. Argent had been patting earlier when wishing Danny a pleasant day.

Matt’s touch was much more appreciated.

“I’m going down to L.A. to meet up with a friend of mine, for Spring Break” Danny said. “She’s…pretty good with security stuff. I’m going to ask her for some help. If they don’t give us any real answers by the time we get back from break, I figured we could get some on our own.”

A slow smile crawled over Matt’s face, dimples filled with hope and eyes brightening up. “Awesome!” he said, his hand still on Danny’s good shoulder. The touch practically burned through the thin cotton of Danny’s shirt. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not sure,” Danny said. “But even if there isn’t — whatever I find, I’ll tell you.”

Matt nodded. “Well have fun in L.A., then, with your…” He frowned. “Wait, I thought you were gay?”

“I am,” Danny said with an eyeroll. “I meant it when I said she’s my friend. More like a mentor, really.”

“Then have fun with your friend. See you after...are you gone all break?”

“No,” Danny said. With a softer, hopefully more inviting smile, he said, “See you at the rave next week?”

Matt nodded, with a smile. “It’s a date.”

Danny’s heart skipped a beat at _date_ , even as Matt obliviously climbed into his car and drove off.

“He doesn’t mean anything by it,” Danny reminded himself, reshouldering his backpack and slinking back to his own car — for real, this time. “He’s probably straight, and _definitely_ going with Allison.”

But still — not-so-straight guys were pretty squirrely about admitting it to themselves, sometimes, and overcompensated. And everyone knew Allison and Scott only had eyes for each other. Maybe that’s why Matt was going with her? Because he knew it wouldn’t hurt her feelings if he didn’t end the date with her?

And Danny had _just_ reminded Matt that he’s gay, and Matt had said ‘date’ anyway. That had to count for something, right?”

_“Totally!”_ Skye said, when Danny called her to let her know he was on his way, then unloaded his latest personal woes onto her. _“Hey, it’s Los Angeles — we can squeeze in a shopping date while you’re here, get you the best rave outfit we can find. This Matt guy won't know what hit him.”_

Danny grinned, getting onto the highway that would take him down south. “Thanks, Skye.”

_“Seeya soon, Cubie,”_ she said, before ending the call.

Danny steered the car with a smile.

His teammates were stonewalling him, his friend’s ex-girlfriend was going crazy, and his _best_ friend was hiding things from him.

But Danny’s crush was possibly taking him out on a date, and he had a fun and productive week in Los Angeles ahead of him.

Spring Break was looking up.

~*~

A week later, and Danny was no closer to answers about his hometown.

But Spring Break had otherwise been productive, at least. Skye and the rest of the Tide had new leads to follow on all the missing Extremis tech, she’d helped him find a new outfit for the rave, and a few days relaxing in Los Angeles — with nothing too interesting happening back home — did a world of good for his ability to _think_ and figure out what was going on around here.

Now, back in town just in time for the end-of-spring-break rave, Danny wove his way through dozens of dancing bodies, trying to find Matt.

Instead, he found Erica and Isaac carrying away what looked like Jackson — barely conscious, if at all.

"...ecstasy," Danny pronounced, remembering the way the three of them had been dancing earlier. Jackson and Isaac had been _all over_ Erica, and she’d seemed to like the attention. It didn't sound or feel right, but it was the only thing that made sense. Then he frowned in thought. "Overdose?" he questioned.

And wait — what was Erica doing at a rave? Didn’t she have epilepsy?

He started to follow them — which, of course, is when he stumbled across Matt.

Dancing with Allison.

For a moment, it was like his heart stopped beating and all the blood in his body stood still.

Danny wanted to say he was surprised.

He wasn't. He'd known Matt was obsessed with her.

Danny wanted to say he wasn't hurt.

He was.

For a moment, he debated stomping over and demanding answers, demanding to know if Matt just used Danny to get in here. He even started to move, raising a fist-

-then realized his hand was already in a fist.

Danny didn't want to become _that guy_.

Hands shaking in a way that had nothing to do with the music or vestiges of aching in his shoulder, Danny turned and walked in the opposite direction.

Screw Matt.

He'd go check on Jackson to make sure he hadn't died of whatever he OD'd on, then head home.

Pulling out his phone to check the time, he sighed at the message from Skye. _Let me know if the outfit worked!_

With a sigh, he turned into a quiet-ish corner and texted back, _He’s into someone else._

The simple _:(_ made him laugh, a choking and wet sound, and his vision blurred slightly as he took two tries to type out, _Thanks anyway._

L.A. had still been productive, even if his efforts to prepare for a date with Matt turned out to be a waste. Pocketing his phone, he set off in search of his (former?) best friend.

He didn't find Jackson — but near the main door, he did run into Stiles.

Literally.

"Have you seen Jackson?" Danny demanded, as he helped Stiles off the floor.

"Uh, hey, Danny!" Stiles said, his grin too big and far too bright. "What brings you here?"

Danny crossed his arms, unimpressed, and continued. "Erica and Isaac were dancing with him, then carried him out when he was barely conscious."

Stiles...paled. He looked nervous.

He looked _guilty_.

"If I find out you guys had anything to do with this," Danny said. "After you kidnapped him-"

"I did not drug Jackson!" Stiles answered immediately.

"...funny," Danny said, tilting his head. "I didn't actually say anything about drugs."

"I-" Stiles flailed.

Then turned and ran.

Danny shot after him, but for once, his muscles worked against him. Not only did he have trouble weaving through a crowd Stiles had no problem slithering through, but at least two girls tried to stop him to flirt with him. Even though Danny ignored them and ran past them, they still slowed him down.

Enough that by the time he was able to reach the doors, he lost sight of Stiles.

His only lead on Jackson, gone.

He took several deep breaths of the evening air, until his fists stopped clenching and his heart stopped racing. He turned towards the street over where his car was parked...

...only to hear gunfire.

It was instinct, more than anything else, to freeze at the sound. Danny had only ever heard it coming from TV and computer screens, but the sound was unmistakeable.

His instinct might’ve been to freeze, but his decision was to go towards the sound.

When Danny rounded the corner of the building, the sounds of the music and people from inside almost bowled him over.

If he'd stayed in there a few minutes longer, he wouldn't have heard the gunfire.

Which meant he wouldn't have followed the sound, which meant he wouldn't have circled halfway around the building in confusion and desperation, which meant he wouldn't have seen Erica Reyes and Isaac Lahey helping a stumbling man carrying a half-conscious Scott out of a side room.

A stumbling man that Danny recognized.

"Miguel?" he muttered.

Danny had already figured out from the moment Stiles said the name that it wasn't real. But it was nice to have it confirmed when Stiles appeared, rushing towards them and yelling, "Derek? What the- Scott!"

"We have to go, now!" Isaac snapped at him.

"Where's your jeep?" Erica demanded.

Stiles led them away, the group disappearing around the other side of the building, toward the car lot.

Danny looked down, and frowned when he saw what looked like a line of black dust on the ground. He followed the line of dust.

He stopped when he reached a break in the line — not too far from where Danny had heard the gunfire. The line kept going, and Danny kept walking. He also pulled out his phone and opened up the browser, creating a new tab and typing in a search.

The search wasn't meant to get results right away. His main goal was to let the tab sit there on his phone’s browser and be a reminder for him to do some research when he got home.

But when he typed in _‘derek beacon hills’_ , the first result that came up was a picture and a news article about Derek Hale.

The picture was the man who Danny just saw being escorted away by Stiles and a pair of other teenagers.

Danny actually stopped to read it, eyes narrowing as he stumbled across the arrest reports. Mapping his own meeting with the man to everything being said about Hale...

Forget Matt — _Stiles_ had been using Danny for a lot longer than he'd even realized.

Danny hadn't just tracked a text for a stupid classmate and his hot (boy?)friend. He'd helped an honest-to-god murder suspect.

Before Danny could read any further, though, there was a lot of screaming coming from inside the building. He looked up in time to see the doors burst open and a panicked mob pour out of the rave.

"What the-"

He watched, stunned, as everyone fled, screaming about a _dead body_ and _there was blood everywhere_ and _oh god what if her killer is still here run run RUN-_

Scowling, Danny jogged around the fleeing mob, over to the side entrance. There were people running out of that door, too, but a lot less of them. Danny was able to stand strong against the crowd and waded forward, until he was back inside the half-empty building.

The room had been pleasantly claustrophobic before. Now, it felt like a cavern as he looked around.

It didn't take him long to see what everyone had been running from.

Kara.

Or rather, Kara's dead body.

For a moment, he just stood there, staring at her open eyes and blank face and her ripped out throat.

It was one thing to know that people were dying in this town, again.

It was another thing to see the dead body of someone he'd talked, before.

He'd talked to her, he knew her, he bought tickets from her for local events all the time. He'd even talked to her that morning, when he’d checked — disabled — the security cameras for her.

And now she was a corpse on the ground.

The room was still emptying out, and he hadn't even been the only person rooted there and staring in shock. Someone shoved at his shoulder, and that got Danny moving, back with the crowd, back outside, and back to his car.

This just went from an illegal rave to a murder, and Danny needed to get away from the crime scene before the cops showed up.

And he wasn't the only one.

"Danny!" Matt cried out from beside Danny's car. "Thank god, you're all right. What-"

"Kara's dead," Danny blurted out, reaching his car. Matt immediately wrapped an arm around Danny's shoulder. Despite the vivid memory of Matt dancing with Allison, Danny leaned into the touch. "The ticket girl, she — someone ripped her throat out."

Matt's eyes widened rather theatrically at that. "What? How?"

"I don't know!" Danny said. "I only saw the body, and even that was after everyone else started running away."

Tightening his sideways embrace, Matt wondered out loud, "What the hell happened, here?"

"I don't know, but whatever this is..." Danny frowned. "I think some of our classmates are in on it."

Matt frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Earlier, I saw Erica and Isaac dragging Jackson out of the rave, and he wasn't conscious. Just saw them again, doing the same thing with Scott, also not conscious, but with Stiles and..." He pulled out his phone, swiped in, and showed Matt the page he'd been reading. "Derek Hale."

Matt's eyebrows rose as he read down the page.

"And whatever this is? It's been going on for a while," Danny said. "A while back, I went to Stiles' place. I thought it was to study, but he made me track the origin IP of a text someone sent, and _this_ guy-” Danny waved the phone around. “-was there. I didn't know who he was at the time." He jerked his head towards the phone. "But I just checked the dates, and this was when Hale was still a person of interest in the murders that Allison’s aunt turned out to be doing." He swallowed. "Stiles was harboring a fugitive in his room, and I helped them, somehow."

The last part, he spoke bitterly, and Matt squeezed Danny's shoulder in comfort.

"Do you know what happened to Scott and Jackson?" he asked.

Danny shook his head. "At first, I thought they took some E or something. The way Erica and Isaac were dancing with Jackson earlier, it'd make sense. But with all of this..."

Matt nodded. "We'll figure this out," he promised, handing Danny his phone back.

"And-" Danny pointed a bit over the building they'd just left. "I'd heard gunfire, a few minutes before people saw Kara's dead body. But she doesn't look like she was shot."

Matt's eyes widened. "You sure?"

"Her throat had slashes, not holes," Danny said. "I — didn't look too closely."

"I wouldn't," Matt agreed with an understanding nod.

With a shake of his head, Danny unlocked the car.

"The cops will get here any moment, and they'll be fanning out," Danny said, opening his driver's door. "We need to get out of here before they see us."

"Won't they see everyone on the security cameras, anyway?" Matt asked.

Danny shook his head. "How do you think I go to so many of these? I help hide the raves." He paused, and realized what it meant. “…which is why there won’t be any footage of her murder. Or her murderer.”

"You mean you _hacked_ them?" Matt asked. "Can you do that?"

"You can, but it's easier to literally cut them," Danny said. "As in, cut the wires on the security camera so they stop recording. If you can do it from above or behind, you never even get seen."

Matt nodded. "Well, we might need to do that soon, if we want answers. With the school's new cameras?"

Danny snorted, and climbed into the car. "Not like those ever help."

"You okay to drive?" Matt asked.

Danny nodded. "I didn't drink or anything." Fighting the very, very strong urge to bite his lip, he said, "Need me to take you home?"

Shaking his head, Matt said, "No one expected to need to leave this fast, so not everyone is sobered up yet."

Danny smiled. "I've driven home drunk people in their own cars, before," he said. "I wish you all the luck."

"Thanks," Matt drawled. "I'll need it. See you at school?" Danny nodded. With a firm pat to Danny's shoulder, Matt shut Danny's door for him, but waited.

With a slight eyeroll, Danny started the car, and smoothly turned out of his spot and onto the street, rolling down his windows. "See!" he called out at Matt. "I'm fine!"

"Just making sure!" Matt yelled. He waved and jogged off. Danny started driving, but also looked for Matt in the rearview mirror.

Matt was headed back towards the building.

No, not the building — towards Allison, who was waiting by her own car.

The car that Matt climbed into.

The car that Matt climbed into on the passenger side, no less.

Of course. Matt being nice to Danny paled in comparison to his crush on Allison.

With a forlorn sigh, Danny started driving away, again.

Then slowed down again when he saw several armed men who were definitely not police officers standing by the doors to the rave.

One of whom he recognized.

"Principal Argent?" he asked, bewildered. He watched as their high school principle handed a pretty big handgun to...was that Mr. Argent? Allison's dad?

Principal Argent knelt down, and held his hand over something. Squinting, Danny realized it was the black line of dust he'd been following earlier.

After a moment, Principal Argent pulled his hand away, like he'd been burned.

Danny almost turned around to park and spy on them, but he heard sirens in the distance. So did the men, who started scattering.

With a frustrated sigh, Danny tore out of there, barely making it off the corner before the cops appeared down the street.

He was ending this night with way more questions than he'd started with.

~*~

The morning after Lydia’s birthday party found Danny groaning awake in his own bed. Despite the closed blinds and curtain, the angle of the sun beams and ambient light in the room told Danny that it must be very late in the morning. The room smelled faintly of…chlorine?

He blinked blearily at the ceiling, trying to remember the previous night. He remembered powering through cup after cup of Lydia’s purple punch, watching Matt circle around Allison, dancing a little, then…then…

Stiles.

And Jackson.

As more of the night came back to him, Danny turned his head to the side.

He saw the little inflating engine first, then the airbed wrapped in sheets, then the lump on top of it — a lump which uncurled into Jackson as Danny sat up. Jackson didn’t have any blankets over him, only under him…which worried Danny, given his clothes were all damp. At least that explained the chlorine smell; they must have been soaking wet last night.

Jackson didn’t actually say anything, when he saw Danny sitting upright. Despite them being only two feet apart, they might as well have stood on opposite sides of the Grand Canyon.

After a beat, Jackson reached up to the bedside table between Danny’s bed and Jackson’s sleepover airbed. He pushed a pair of Advil capsules toward Danny, right next to the bottle of Gatorade.

“…th-thanks,” Danny choked out, grimacing at the sour-cotton texture of his mouth. He took the painkillers and drained half the bottle in one go. Jackson got to his feet as Danny drank, pulling off the sheets without a word and neatly bundling them up.

Watching Jackson toss the bundle into his hamper like a basketball without his usual shout of _Kobe!_ felt more surreal than that weird lizard thing he’d hallucinated rescuing Matt from the pool the night before.

“Anyone know who spiked the drinks?” Danny asked, trying to keep his voice soft. “Or what they spiked it with?”

Jackson shook his head, still not saying a word as he unstoppered the air bed, laying back down on it — facing away from Danny — to press the air out faster.

As the hissing sound of deflation filled Danny’s room, Danny tried to figure out what to say.

This had never been a problem for them before, after all. Danny kept an airbed in his closet _because_ Jackson slept over so much, without a care in the world between them for it. How many times had Danny woken up to see Jackson already awake and dicking around on a Gameboy or his phone? How often had he gotten up and casually started up his computers while letting Jackson sleep?

They’d had fights, but they’d never had _this_.

“Thanks for driving me home,” Danny finally forced out.

Jackson grunted, but otherwise didn’t respond or even move.

Danny took a deep breath.

“And for…last night.”

_That_ caused a reaction. Jackson finally turned over, the plastic of the airbed creaking as he twisted over the worn out patch of the velvet topside.

“What the fuck _was_ that?” Jackson demanded.

“I…” Danny swallowed. “I don’t know.”

He barely remembered what he _did_ , only what he _felt_ ; the confusion and hurt and desperation that mounted higher and higher with every glass of the spiked purple punch he imbibed.

Jackson snarled, lips curling back as he crawled off the deflating airbed. “Really? Because it seems pretty simple to me, what you nearly did.”

Danny flinched. “I wasn’t!”

“You sure about that?” Jackson snapped. The other boy took a deep breath, grimacing as he apparently inhaled a bit too much chlorine, and breathed back out. He got up to open the curtains, then the blinds. As Danny brought his hand up to shield his eyes, he heard the window opening, circulating the chlorine scent out and bringing some fresh air in.

When Danny’s eyes adjusted enough to the light, he blinked to the sight of Jackson rolling up the airbed inch by inch, stopping to press air out before rolling some more.

“You used to give me so much shit for how I treated Lydia, or how straight guys treat girls,” Jackson said, voice hard and blank as he focused on the task he’d done a hundred times before. “But last night, I had to pull you off of Stiles _in a bed_ because he couldn’t push you away, and you weren’t listening to him yelling at you to get off of him.”

“I…I remember,” Danny admitted. “I’m…sorry.”

Jackson snorted, finishing rolling up the bed and fishing out a Velcro strap from somewhere behind the inflating engine. “It’s not _me_ you need to apologize to.”

“I know.”

“What were you even _doing_?” Jackson asked, strapping the airbed into a tighter roll. “You don’t even like Stilinski. I thought you were all about Matt?”

“You know he’s not into me,” Danny countered.

“Yeah, but why _Stiles_? Is _he_ even into dudes?”

“He was, at first,” Danny said, cringing as he remembered how he came onto Stiles _so hard_. “He was into it until…”

Airbed packed up, Jackson looked back at Danny. “Until what?”

Danny swallowed. “I started asking him…questions. About what’s been going on with everyone, what the deal was with Derek Hale, with…you…”

Jackson flinched at the name.

“…you know Derek Hale?” Danny finally asked.

Instead of answering, Jackson picked up the airbed and the inflating engine, taking them over to Danny’s tiny walk-in and shoving them into that weird dead-space just inside the door. Shutting the closet, he turned and crossed his arms.

“How do _you_ know Derek?” Jackson asked.

“‘Derek’?” Danny questioned. “You’re on a first-name basis with him?”

Jackson crossed his arms, hunching in on himself. “I ran into him when Stilinski and McCall were playing Nancy Drew about the murders. Before we found out it was Allison’s aunt.”

When Jackson looked away at the end, Danny figured that was true…just not the entire truth.

“Stiles asked me to track the origin of a text message,” Danny admitted, anyway. “And, uh, Derek was there. Spun some bullshit about the dude being his cousin, I assumed it was some secret boyfriend or something.”

Jackson grimaced. “That was _not_ a mental image I needed…look, Danny-”

“What happened at the rave?”

Blinking in surprise, Jackson’s crossed arms tightened over his chest. “W-what?”

“At the rave,” Danny repeated. “You were all over Erica and Isaac — what happened to not liking guys at all, by the way? — and then next I saw you guys, they were carrying you out half conscious, and I would’ve followed but then every ran away when they found Kara- the ticket girl’s dead body. I thought you must’ve taken too much E or something-”

“Can you _stop_ acting like everybody taking a ton of drugs all the time is normal?” Jackson snapped.

“If it’s not normal, then why did you take-”

“ _I didn’t!_ ”

Danny swallowed.

“…do you mean that as in someone else _drugged_ you?” Danny said. “Because the funny part is that Stiles got really defensive about _not_ drugging you, before I even suggested it.”

“That’s not the point!” he didn’t answer. “And not what we were talking about-”

“Oh, _now_ we’re talking?” Danny snapped. He swung his legs off the bed, sinking his toes into the old carpet and bracing himself on the edge of the bed. “I spent _months_ trying to ask what’s up with you and trying to help, and _now_ you want to talk?”

Jackson scowled, uncrossing his arms as he started for the door. “You know what, screw you. You’re home, you’re alive, and you didn’t puke overnight, so I’m _done_.”

Danny pushed himself up. He winced at the sudden movement, but reached out for Jackson anyway.

Déja vù hit him harder than Jackson did when his (former?) best friend whirled around and slammed his hand against Danny’s shoulder — the same one as last time.

Falling back onto the bed, Danny clutched at his shoulder, but refused to look down.

“Why do you keep running away from me?” Danny demanded. “I thought I was your best friend!”

With one hand on the doorknob as he stood, facing the door but not entirely turned away yet, the line of Jackson’s shoulders almost softened in his confusion. “…you are-”

“Then why won’t you let me _help you_?!”

Clenching his eyes shut in time with his fingers tightening over the doorknob, Jackson said, “Because Lydia already got hurt, and I won’t risk hurting you, too.”

Wait, _what_?

“Wasn’t…wasn’t that some kind of animal attack?” Danny asked.

Jackson choked on a sound that could have been a laugh or a sob, Danny couldn’t tell. Before Danny could ask another question or get more answers, Jackson turned the knob, opened the door, and slid out of Danny’s room.

This time, Danny didn’t try to stop him.


End file.
